Antichrist (one-shot?)
by CartoonFF
Summary: Monster. What is a monster? They don't live under the bed. we are the monsters.


**"I don't think people have demons, I think they have themselves and things they aren't ready, to be honest about yet. it is not easy to come grips with the fact that we're capable of hurting people with the same instruments that we love them with. The heart is a hungry wolf and it is made of Glass" - King Longton**

* * *

.

.

.

The couch. Always behind the couch. Under the table. The closet under the stairs. Three places to run. Three places to hide. Every time their voices would rise I would run to the closest sanctuary and thank God I was small enough to fit. Those voices that ran across each corner of the room seemed to reverberate off my very skin.

Dad. He told me to call him that. Never Lynn Sr.

Mom. She told me to call her that. Never Rita.

Sisters. Never call them anything that related to the word Sister. Instead, they told me to call them Lovers.

Love.

An alien concept to me after what they did to me. had it. experienced it. felt it. It left me. it left me like my Sister Lori would leave my room after she put herself on me. Left like I did when I and Luna had our "Jam sessions". Left like the feeling of actually smiling at Luan's jokes.

Leni was different. Or maybe I had become so numb to the pain and the sin of my sister seeped into the conscious and poisoned my mind.

Leni was so pretty when she slept. She was so pretty when she was happy. Now, her body of twenty years was old. Tired from no sleep, breaking from fingertips pressed into her sides, and boiling with too hard of liquor for her fragile, porcelain outline.

After every uproar, after every fight they had, I was disappointed to see them turn their malice towards me. They were just happy to turn their malice away from themselves. I was an 11-year-old pathetic coward.

My eyes would wander to Leni, with frightened curiosity.

What had I done?

I called them lovers.

They called me Lincoln at school.

They called me Lincoln at church.

They called me Monster at home. Called me Lover at night. Called me a freak when alone.

I would always be confined to my room. A tiny room with one window, where their words said minutes earlier would form long sentences and wrap around in a circle above my head like those music boxes loving mothers would clip to the sides of Lily's cribs.

I hated my room.

I hated the dark.

They knew it, too, and took pleasure in locking me in.

Locking me in where they could get me.

If you ever were an 11-year-old child, who had to deal with what I did, remember what it was like to lay in bed and imagine that loud heartbeat pulsing thick from underneath your mattress. Remember that hand that hovered over your face once you closed your eyes. Remember that loud breathing that resided around your open window.

The creatures.

That Blond tall girl, with black eyes and red pupils. The one that walked towards you in the night, hair hanging around the neck, fingers outstretched.

To a child it is horrid.

To an adult, it is a memory that most barely ever

.

* * *

.

.

.

Twenty years later I am still here on this earth. I left Royal Woods. I left the Home of where My sister would put their Sin on me

I didn't understand love. I didn't understand human connection after all those years of sinning with my sister. Allowing it to be like second nature to me.

I only understood the weather: constantly changing.

I understood change.

I didn't understand safety, or any emotion, be it love, or hate, that could be unconditional.

I was in my second year of college. I was striving to be an artist.

I didn't trust the crowds.

I would go to my apartment, sit at the small desk I had gotten at a garage sale, and stay there for hours with my books, my papers, and a bottle of brandy. Then the day would end, and I'd get ready for the next.

I slept with the lights on.

Always.

I was always afraid to see that woman again. See her arms outstretched for me. Hear her voice whisper lies into my ear

I didn't want many things, but every once in a while, I hate to admit, I would want to feel that popular emotion I had read about in so many books: love.

I was scared to administer it myself. I was scared to feel for another person.

So things happened.

On a clear day, Leni had visited me.

I never would have imagined that she felt the same way for me. For once I wasn't scared. And that night I slept with the light off. Leni by my side.

I woke up in the middle of the night, look to my side to see that there was no Leni. I then turned to my doorway to see the women. No, it was to woman but it was also Leni.

Leni and the woman were the same. She had her hands outstretched for me. Leni wrapped them around my neck and kissed me on my lips.

"I love you Lincy" She whispered in my ear

It was the same voice. The same woman of my nightmares.

No. Not Nightmares. Memories.

Horrid memories that my mind had made me forgot.

.

The next day Leni left. Just like those nights all those years ago. I went for a walk to despise my life once again.

I walked back to my apartment, but I then saw a girl in a red sweater. I stopped her and asked her if she knew where Rebecca street was. She looked at me in a funny way, paused, and turned her back to me.

I found that my hands ran to her shoulders, my lips to her neck. Hard fingers, hard hands. Her soft hair, thin ankles.

I ran off, leaving the crème skinned girl crying at her Violette bruises left in patches under her sweater and skirt.

I had been born of glass but now I only felt apathy. No regrets, but still, that hard human pain that is there when you know you have done a terrible trespass.

I went back to my apartment.

It was days, weeks since I had committed the Crime on the woman. However, there were no cops. no news. nothing.

A week later I had heard from Lucy that Leni was pregnant. I hung up as soon as I heard those words.

I turned all the lights on and opened the window.

The night was calm and beautiful.

The wind brought in glow flies by the dozen.

They did not bother me as they did to most locals here.

They brought light and company and I loved them with all my heart.

I broke the lamps and poured the liquid into the bathtub. Small shards of porcelain glass managed to mix in with the water as well, which was now pouring from the tub's faucet. I added the remaining kerosene I kept under my sink and by my desk which I had used as a denaturant for my alcohol.

Maybe it would have the same effect on me.

I stepped in the bath. Felt the shards of the Porcelain glass cut my body.

I grabbed one of the shards, it was sharp and long. It would do.

I pressed it against the skin of my wrist and dragged it across the skin.

Finally, crimson fell from my wrist and into the water of the tub. A cold yet peaceful sensation washed over me. I closed my eyes and a smile graced my lips.

For once I was happy again.

I was made of Glass. I am a Glass Child. I was broken like Glass.

But now?

Now... I died as a child made of Flesh...

* * *

.

**"Be gentle love, my bones may be made of metal, but I've a heart of Glass" - Dally London**


End file.
